The Tobacco Lords Trilogy

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  ‘I do declare, I do declare, Master Reggie, you gave me quite a start. My poor little heart went pitter-patter, pitter-patter until I thought poor little me was going to faint.’

  She was a fragile wisp of a woman with a face like a pearl button under her wig, and a wide hooped gown in which she seemed lost. Coquettishly she swooped up a fan from which a tassel bobbed and swung.

  ‘As if this terrible heat wasn’t enough.’

  ‘May I offer you a chair, Mistress Harding?’ Regina asked.

  ‘That’s mighty civil of you, mighty civil of you, sir.’ She collapsed into the chair with a puffing of skirts and a rolling of eyes. ‘I cannot think of a less salubrious place. One day it’s unbearably hot and the next day, or that very evening, it has turned so cold I could just die, just die, Master Reggie.’

  ‘I believe it is caused by the variable winds.’

  ‘And there’s nothing we can do about it,’ Harding growled, ‘so stop your damned complaining.’

  His wife flushed but widened her eyes and flapped her lashes and fan.

  ‘I do declare, I do declare, you are such a tease, Mister Harding.’

  ‘Is her last order in yet?’ Harding said, ignoring her.

  It occurred to Regina that here was one man who did not regard women very highly, especially his wife.

  ‘I’m very sorry, sir. The ship has obviously been delayed. She should have been in a week ago. But we’re expecting her any day. If you could return next week—’

  ‘No, I could not. I’ve more important things to do than ride all the way out here every week.’

  His wife rose in distress, thinking of the potions that she was depending on from a highly recommended chirurgeon in Glasgow. There were times she felt so weak and sickly she felt sure she was going to die.

  ‘Oh, Robert, Robert. There are things I need. I need badly. You could easily send the carriage and some of the slaves.’

  ‘Sit down. You don’t know what you’re talking about. This is the busiest season of the year on the plantation.’ He turned to Reggie. ‘Deliver them.’

  ‘Deliver them?’ Regina echoed.

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘But it is at least a day’s ride and I’ve neither horse nor carriage. There were quite a few items in the order, sir. Including cases of wine for yourself. It would need a carriage.’

  ‘Then you shall have a carriage. There is one at the blacksmith’s just now.’

  ‘But, Robert, dear,’ Mistress Harding’s voice trembled and she prayed that she would not succumb to one of her breathless attacks. The pain in her chest and the choking sensation were very frightening and she never knew what to do about them except pray and keep calm. ‘How shall I return to Forest Hall today?’ she asked.

  ‘You shall ride side-saddle behind me, madam, or take one of the slave’s horses.’

  She could have slipped down onto the floor with utter fatigue at the mere idea.

  ‘But I cannot, I cannot.’

  ‘Then you do not get your precious items from Scotland.’

  She blinked and tried not to look miserable. But her face had gone an ugly putty colour and she could no longer contort it into a smile. She knew it must be terrible for a robust man like her husband to have to suffer such a weakling as herself and she was forever trying to appear bright, cheerful and normal in her manner and also to be gay and attractive in her dress, but nothing seemed to work as successfully as she hoped. She kept trying because she thought Robert was a wonderful person and was honoured to be his wife.

  Regina thought Harding was a brute of a man. He was as big and muscley as his wife was tiny and frail. His dark hair was tied back from a broken-nosed face and he wore an open necked shirt and carried a whip. It was said of him that he abused his slaves but she could imagine him being equally cruel to his wife.

  He was a brute, but then all men were brutes. She managed to give him one of her small polite smiles.

  ‘How do I return to the store, sir? That is, if I manage to handle a carriage and a pair of horses and find my way to your plantation.’

  ‘Ah, no easy task for a young lad, I agree. But you have a determined look about you, Master Chisholm. I have an idea that once you make up your mind to achieve something, you achieve it.’

  ‘Once I make up my mind, sir.’

  Harding laughed.

  ‘You will be well rewarded, never fear. You shall have a horse of your own from my stables.’

  Another dry smile.

  ‘Your order will be delivered.’

  Mr Speckles became quite agitated when later she told him. He stuffed his nose with too much snuff and went into such a paroxysm of sneezing that he spilled the rest of his snuffbox all over his coat and looked dirtier and more repulsive than ever with eyes inflamed, wig askew and nose and mouth dribbling. But Mr Harding was an important customer and he had no choice but to agree in the end between snuffles and rubbings with his oversized hanky. He gave her what directions he could of the route to Harding’s plantation. She must try to keep to the tobacco road, he said. Only it wasn’t really a road, just a track through the trees made by the hogsheads of tobacco being dragged along from the plantations to the wharf every year for shipping to Glasgow. At the same time he kept moaning and muttering, half to himself,

  ‘I’m dogged with bad luck. Dogged by it. I’ve lost two clerks already. The devil has me by the coat-tail in this God-forsaken place.’

  Regina said,

  ‘I have no intention of getting lost, sir. The journey will be of no concern to me once I master the horses. If Mr Harding can successfully travel through the forest, so can I.’

  Yet secretly she was afraid. All the settlers, including grown men, feared the forest and were continuously working to clear it. They dreaded the darkness of the trees and the wild beasts and savages they concealed. The high branches whispered a constant reminder of a wilderness unconquered. Men seldom ventured into it alone and even Harding, when he came to the store, always had several slaves with him. Yet, a horse was no small prize. It was one of the symbols of wealth and comfort and security and she had pledged her life to acquiring these things.

  Gav said,

  ‘You can’t mean it, Reggie. Nobody goes deep into the forest on their own.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m not asking you to come with me.’

  ‘I don’t think Mr Speckles would let me but … I … I could ask him if you’re really set on going.’

  He looked so wide-eyed with fear that she gave a burst of laughter.

  ‘I said don’t worry. I don’t want you to come.’ Then seeing his miserable expression, she added in a kinder tone, ‘I’ll be fine with a carriage and two fast horses, Gav, and I shall be there in no time. When I return with the horse he has promised me you shall have a turn of it whenever you like.’

  His face brightened.

  ‘Will you let me help to look after it too?’

  ‘Of course.’

  When she was not serving in the store she practised taking Harding’s carriage and horses round the settlement until she felt confident at handling the reins. But she did not go near the forest, not even as far as the tavern.

  Then one day a ship was sighted coming up the river in full sail. It was The Glasgow Lass, the same ship that had brought them over from Scotland.

  Gav was delighted to see Jemmy Ducks again and introduce him to his new friend Mr Speckles. Gav had a talent for attaching himself to the most horrible and useless of people.

  She was glad, yet sad, that his attention had been diverted from her adventure as he listened to Jemmy Ducks tell of The Glasgow Lass’s brush with pirates and how she had outsailed the pirates’ ship and escaped being boarded. For a long time now she had been aware of this aloneness, this distance between herself and other people, even Gav. She shrivelled from any closeness, as if it were a snake poised ready to crush the life from her.

  Knots of people had gathered at the wharf, planters in fancy
waistcoats and tricorne hats, backwoodsmen in fur hats and stiff patched deerskin and their women in tattered homespun. Other men who lived in the settlement wore Scotch bonnets and their women’s aprons and bonnet strings fluttered in the breeze.

  Negro slaves unloaded the ship and trudged backwards and forwards from the wharf to the store, their backs stooped under heavy boxes and barrels.

  Later other larger barrels or hogsheads filled with tobacco leaves would be rolled onto the vessel ready to be shipped back to Glasgow. From there it would be sold and distributed all over Europe.

  But for the moment, Regina was not interested in the tobacco. She now had Harding’s order and wasted no time in packing it into the open carriage. No sooner had she started to do this than the whisper flew round the crowd at the wharf and they turned around and hustled to the store and stood there nudging one another and whispering. Actually they weren’t sure of what attitude to take to the event or to Regina. They regarded her as a handsome but cold young man and somehow different from them. She had always been polite when they went into the store on business but outside she was in the habit of keeping herself to herself and speaking to no-one.

  She spoke to no one now, sitting ready, tight lipped and hard-eyed, the reins held easily between her fingers. Mr Speckles’ snuff-stained fingers pushed a tinder-box onto her lap, muttering something about needing it to light a fire and Gav came running up with Jemmy Ducks limping and hopping beside him and begged her to change her mind. Ignoring him, she flicked the reins, made a clicking noise through clenched teeth and sent the horses cantering away. A cloud of dust bowled after her, hiding her from view until eventually she disappeared into the black mouth of the forest.

  13

  AS REGINA moved through the hush of deep woods, it was hard to take comfort from the fact that these trees furnished so many implements of survival for the settlers. Gun stocks were fashioned from black walnut. Boat ribs came from the tall oak trees. Axe-handles, singletrees, and wagon hubs came from hickory and black gum. The finest tree was an evergreen, the great white pine. It soared over the wilderness often two hundred feet high and more, and provided the light but strong wood for houses and boat planking and ship’s masts.

  Now, for Regina, all they did was shut out the sun.

  Her progress was considerably slowed by bronze-tinted turkeys that every now and again swarmed across her path. More than once the horses had been frightened by them and reared up whinnying in panic. It was only with difficulty that she was able to pacify them and urge them on.

  She was afraid, yet at the same time she began to experience an exhilaration that was akin to enjoyment and the deeper she penetrated into the forest, the less afraid and the more at home she felt. Jogging along further and further away from the settlement and people, her body swaying to the rhythm of the horses, it would have been easy to believe that she belonged in this lovely place, as if she were an animal herself and the forest was her refuge and shelter.

  She stopped eventually to eat some of the food she had brought. Nearby the river sent stars winking through the undergrowth. She chewed her cornbread, savouring more intensely than the food the strange happiness penetrating into the deepest, most secret cores of herself. Perched in the small open carriage, the reins draped loosely on her lap and crumbs of cornbread spotting her breeches, she wondered why it was she felt so content. It had taken her by surprise. She had been prepared for nothing but terror. Certainly she was retaining an alertness to danger and her eyes missed none of the movements in the bushes and trees all around her, but the danger was worrying her less and less. The animals of the forest, she decided, were as wary of her as she was of them.

  It was in man that the real danger lay. She thought of Robert Harding with anger. He had forced her into taking this journey, not caring if she became lost in the wilderness. She pitied his wife who seemed like a feeble moth fluttering hopefully around him, despite being constantly swatted away.

  Resentment against Harding rose like a stone to her throat. It tightened the muscles of her jaw and neck until she was unable to finish her cornbread. She wrapped it and put it aside before picking up the reins and jerking the horses into action. The carriage jarred and leapt on the rough earth and she was forced to strain the horses back until they resumed their previous slow pace.

  She tried to banish thoughts of Harding from her mind. He possessed concentrated maleness which she found far more frightening than any thoughts of wild beasts in the forest. Everything about him was disturbingly intense. Most of the men who came to the store had dusty brown or faded grey hair. Harding’s hair glinted blue-black. Most of the men’s skins were dirt-lined and pocked. His skin was taut and nut brown. Most men were either fat or thin. He was huge, with a flat belly and rock hard muscles in arms and thighs. His eyes set deep under craggy brows could be penetrating or brooding. His broken nose twisted to one side over a wide mouth that took on a strange tightness when he laughed. It gave him a cruel appearance and hardened the aggressive masculinity about him.

  With a determined effort, she concentrated on her immediate surroundings. Somewhere high above her, the squawking of birds had a hollow echo as if they were contained in a drum.

  Would Gav be given forest land like this when he finished his indenture, she wondered. Most settlers had to begin by gnawing into the woods, burning or hacking down trees to make a clearing so that they could build a log cabin and plant some Indian corn between the stumps. It would be hard work but it would be well worthwhile. Happiness filled her veins like wine. She and Gav would build a good life. They wouldn’t need to care about anybody. She would buy extra land with her gold coins and they would grow tobacco and one day they would have a decent sized plantation. The forest would be their friend, isolating them from other people, a wall surrounding them and keeping them safe.

  Cantering along through the trees, she felt alone in the world and queen of all she surveyed. It was a good feeling. It grew inside her like a myriad of bubbles floating up to her head. She could have gone on and on into eternity like that savouring the aloneness, being exhilarated and soothed at one and the same time. Being interested too. Peering at trees and bushes and plants of all shapes and shades and sizes. Soaking up the endless variety and wonder of it all.

  Until eventually she stiffened with surprise at the unexpected sight of people. A man on foot wearing buckskins carried an axe and a gun, and a sweating woman with frowsy hair trudged behind him clutching the rim of a spinning wheel and a bulging sack. Several little boys and girls, each laden with a bundle, straggled after her. A horse loaded high with baggage was topped with a kind of wicker cage in which a baby had rocked to sleep. At the end of the procession a cow lumbered along with a bed and a bag of meal tied on its back.

  The man stopped to greet her and on an impulse she passed down her cornbread to be shared among the children. The man and woman told her they were moving westward, seeking a new place to settle, and she wished them a brief ‘good luck’ before snapping the reins and gee-upping the horses into action.

  Soon she was alone again and glad of it. Glad of the long hushed hours. Glad of the rhythmic clopping of the horses and the rattling of the carriage lulling her once more into dreams. But the realisation that it had become colder gradually began to pierce her consciousness. She became aware too of night sounds coming from the undergrowth, sudden rustlings that just as suddenly stopped. She became aware of the chirping of crickets and the shouting of tree frogs, and fireflies gleaming in the bushes.

  She decided she would have to stop and light a fire before it got any darker. Mr Speckles had said there would be a clearing and house where she could seek shelter for the night but so far she had not seen one. Unhitching the horses, she tied them to a tree, then gathered fuel before fighting with the tinder-box. At last she managed to get a fire going. She lit a lantern too and, before hanging it on the carriage, she held it up and swung it round, sending its puny beam scraping at the edges of the black wall of trees s
urrounding her. The horses pricked their ears and shifted restlessly but she sat very still gazing into the fire, her back relaxed against the carriage wheel. In the blackness quite near to her the wings of a large bird flapped.

  She was thinking of Gav again and their plans for the future. They would build a log cabin to start with. Everyone did that. Usually it had only one room. Two at the most. But eventually, when they began to sell tobacco and make a profit, the log cabin would just be used for their slaves. She and Gav would have a bigger, better house by then. They would paint it white and it would have white pillars and glass windows like the plantation mansions she’d seen from the ship as it sailed up the James River. They would have a garden too with flowers as well as vegetables and herbs. Inside there would be every comfort. They would have furniture made by English cabinet-makers, graceful chairs and sofas upholstered in velvet and rich brocade and a rosewood spinet and a japanned tea table. They would have carpets too and feather beds and snowy white bed-linen and table-linen. And silver and china and glass. They would have decanters and goblets and teapots and bowls and platters and pitchers and candlesticks and spoons and knives and forks. She saw it all, a warm luxurious, inviting picture in the crimson frame of the fire.

  She heard the dismal yelling cry of wolves, but did not resent them. They were a natural part of the forest. She accepted them, just as she accepted the fact that the forest had an affinity with the wildness in her.

  She dozed a little, her head drooping down onto her chest, then jerking up again as if she were suddenly not sure where she was. Several times she roused herself to toss more wood on the fire, until watery fingers of light, sparkling like glass, cut through the darkness of the trees. The forest was still dark. It was always dark in the forest. But during the day sunlight dribbled down like delicate coloured icing on a chocolate cake.

  She hitched up the horses, climbed stiffly onto the front of the carriage and set off again. It wasn’t long before she came to the house that Mr Speckles must have meant.